On The Road With Denny D

Paper planes I didn't know what origami was and the only paper folding skill I had acquired at my young grade school age was making paper airplanes. My father, however, could make a hat out of yesterday's news.  Flight path It was meant to be just a little note cleverly written within the paper wingspan. Just a few words "meet me after school" signed with my name. The destination was my childhood want to be sweethearts desk. It wasn't a long flight; she sat right infront of me. It would have been easier to tap her on the shoulder. But this was more romantic. Okay, bullshit. I was shy and scared to death. I wasn't expecting turbulence that day, oh but there was.  Stormy weather The plane vered off course and landed at the feet of my teacher. I looked out the window and hoped he wouldn't think it was me but the signed note was more than enough of a confession. I was busted, now the whole class knew I had the hots for a girl named Sue. The good thing is she ...

Setting the stage The spackled countertop made the gray and black sponge brick backsplash stand out. Well, not really. The attached island didn't help much either. But this area was just the ticket for my childhood bartender comedy routines. I had dual roles: the bartender and the drunk. Having seen one of my uncles in action, I improvised much to my niece’s enjoyment. I had his smoky throat Detroit dialect down pat.  Kill or be killed I would make her giggle so hard until my mother woke up. "You kids quiet down, down there" became just background noise in a crowded make-believe bar room. I killed and was almost killed because of it. I'd set up the bar with shot glasses and orange juice or Kool-Aid. My niece would pull up a stool and I'd lean over and say, "What'll you have" "A shot of Tang, no rocks, straight up" Let's just assumed she said that I can't remember everything. I was too young to know what a screwdriver was, but I ...

The summer of Sixty Eight Tiger stadium   There are only three occasions to wear a little league uniform: Parade Day, playing ball or sitting in the bleachers at Tiger stadium. Every year they had a little league team day. This day included kids from Canada too. My hometown was just across the border. Windsor Ontario. Windsor Ontario was once called Sandwich. Now Sandwich is a road running east and west along the river. Back in the day our city was divided by a few of these sandwiches. They were three sandwiches and no, hero was not one of them: East, west and south. We represented Sandwich East. I don't remember the bus ride over, but I do remember our seats. Our seats were in the nosebleed section of right field. My father and his brother were our chaperones watching over my brother and I.  Looking around the place was enormous. It was sunny day. The sounds of the vendors filled the air. "Get your red hots here" and "peanuts roasted peanuts" I remember pea...

Tennis Anyone When I first learned how to play tennis, I must admit I wasn't in love with it. Pun intended. I did love hanging out with my brother from another mother. My sister's husband and my doubles partner. After a few weeks of practice, I had acquired enough skill to hit a pretty good backhand and a decent forehand, but my serving technique wasn't so good.  I could get by, so we figured a challenge was in order. Our first two victims were two old dudes. We thought "surely we could take these guys" They were older and slower than us. My partner was decked out with sweatbands on each wrist and one around his forehead. That was just accessorizing. The ensemble was meant to compliment his tucked in tennis shirt and his knee-high white sports socks. His fashion sense alone should have scared the old guys. The old guys must have gone to the same sports store because they dressed in a similar fashion. I wasn't quite as sporting as the old guys. A black track ...

The Unstable Stable Hand   In nineteen eighty-nine I got married for the first time. My then wife had a dream. She wanted to buy dog kennel. She was a groomer, so this sounded like a good idea. I supported her like a good husband should. I had one role and one role only. Clean shit.    Doggy do do   My job at the kennel was cleaning dog shit. Every morning, I woke to shit. Dog shit and in-law shit. I was glad to have my part-time sales job. It got me out of shit. If only for a little while. They needed me to get a full-time job. So, I looked for a new job. I needed to get out of shit with mother mafia or at least not see her as much. What persuaded to work, or should I say, who persuaded me to work at a greenhouse/petting zoo? Yup, my ex-mother in-law.  Why I applied to be a farmhand, I will never know. Apparently, for the comedy of errors that would soon follow and this opportunity to now write about it.    Do this. Don't do that   The ...

This is short story about a father, a son and a moment in time. My father had harness horses and I was a farmhand by default. I learned at very young age that if I wanted to see my dad, I had to go with him to the barn. He worked at Fords; his real job. Horses for lack of a better word was his side hustle. It was his dream. After work he'd came home to have supper, load up truck with bunch of us kids, sometimes the neighbors kids too. The best part of hard work was seeing his horses race. I was always glad to a tag along. My favorite memories is hanging around the clubhouse and paddock with my dad. I enjoyed our many trips to Windsor, Dresden and even Leamington raceway. I think I enjoyed Leamington the most; they had the best French fries. It was fun to watch the horses round the track. Especially, if one of the horses was my dad's. I think I enjoyed watching my dad painstakingly scribble his selections on the race form, while I randomly pick the winning horse the most. It wa...